Shattered

Nation, I'm a broken man. To be honest, I don't even feel like a broken man, I feel more like a broken nothing. I used to believe in love, but now, I see that, like Santa Claus, it was nothing more than a way to sell Coca-Cola. 

Someone very dear to me stomped on my heart. Or rather, she chomped on it.

Yesterday, I decided to make peace, and I decided to make a token of our friendship and my forgiveness for her putting up those terrible posters. I spent days agonizing over the perfect symbol. It had to be something amazing, and yet be meaningful. Finally, I hit upon the perfect idea, something that would endure the test of time:

I thought that finally, things would be alright between us.

Sadly, today when I opened the door, I found the shatter remnants of my gift:

Nation, I'm crushed. Nothing can console me but a half gallon of vanilla ice cream. I now know it's too much to ask to be understood and accepted. My tears run into my ice cream and make it taste terrible, a bitter reminder of my pain. But I eat on, sadly devouring the ice cream like she devoured my love for her. I hope it tasted as bad as my ice cream does.